Chapter 86

Lu Shenxing half-lowered his eyes, hiding the sudden surge of emotion within them. His expression remained calm and self-possessed.

But only he knew that it took almost all his strength to restrain the thoughts that could be described as dangerous.

To touch Ji Wei.

To press his lips against Ji Wei’s soft ones, to make the young man completely and utterly his.

—His Ji Wei.

But Ji Wei was oblivious to all this. He just carefully capped his pen and gently pushed the paper towards Professor Song.

Professor Song was stunned after reading the content. He hadn’t expected such an answer.

No wonder he was so cooperative with the treatment. It seemed Ji Wei really liked Lu Shenxing.

He probably didn’t want to make Lu Shenxing worry.

He put the paper away and smiled at Ji Wei. “He likes you too.”

Ji Wei, who had been keeping his head down, slowly looked up at Professor Song’s words and stole a glance at the man beside him. Lu Shenxing said softly, “To be precise, it’s not ‘like’.”

The young man froze for a second. His idol didn’t like to discuss personal matters in front of others. He lowered his head again.

But the moment he lowered his head—

The man’s gaze fell upon him, as if carrying warmth. His voice was hoarse, seemingly suppressing his emotions. “I like you very, very much,” he said, his tone exceptionally firm.

As if a ray of light had pierced through a pitch-black world, Ji Wei’s heart uncontrollably quickened. He let out a very soft, very quiet “mm.”

Professor Song wasn’t talkative, but he was extremely patient. He mostly played the role of a listener. Ji Wei was always slow when writing down his answers, but he never rushed him and would even praise his beautiful handwriting.

Gradually, Ji Wei became less resistant to him.

With Lu Shenxing’s encouragement, he finally dared to look up.

At this point, Professor Song took out the prepared ABC (Autism Behavior Checklist), DISCO (Diagnostic Interview for Social and Communication Disorders), and several other diagnostic scales and handed them to Ji Wei.

The moment he saw the scales, it was like receiving a verdict. A sudden fear welled up from the bottom of Ji Wei’s heart.

His body trembled from being overly tense, his spine quivering with unease, like a frightened kitten arching its back.

But then, his left hand was held by Lu Shenxing’s well-defined one. The cool temperature, even lower than his own body heat, gave him a deceptive sense of warmth. “If you’re scared—”

The man paused and said, “We’ll go home.”

No blame.

No persuasion.

He was clearly a very controlling person.

Yet he completely placed the decision in his hands.

The feeling of being trusted suppressed his unease. Ji Wei shook his head, took a deep breath, and began to fill out the scales.

There were a total of six forms, all exceptionally detailed.

An hour later, Ji Wei finally finished and handed the scales to Professor Song.

The wait for the results was undoubtedly long.

Ji Wei listened to the clock ticking, like some kind of countdown. His hands were clenched so tightly that he didn’t even feel the pain from his knuckles pressing together.

He thought of his grandfather, whom he had never met. Would he be like him? Would he suddenly go mad one day, leave his wife, daughter, and friends, and spend the rest of his life in a place where no one knew him?

Or, die all alone.

Just as he was unable to suppress his thoughts, Professor Song organized the scales and turned on his computer to write up a test order.

“Based on the results of the several scales, Weiwei does not fall into the category of autism, but he does have autistic tendencies. However, a CT scan is needed for an auxiliary diagnosis. Please take Weiwei to get a scan.”

He handed the printed test order to Lu Shenxing.

The expression on Lu Shenxing’s face did not relax.

Half an hour later, after the CT results came out, Professor Song looked at the scan on his computer and made a diagnosis.

“There are no organic lesions in the brain. Combined with the scale screening, we can rule out autism. He only has autistic tendencies and stress disorder. I will prescribe some antidepressants, and he will need to come for a follow-up visit every week.”

Lu Shenxing frowned. “Weiwei was diagnosed with autism in junior high.”

“In the DSM-5, a diagnosis of autism only requires two manifestations: repetitive, stereotyped behaviors and social impairments. This undoubtedly has a high degree of uncertainty. Therefore, in the current diagnostic field, missed diagnoses are extremely rare, but misdiagnoses do occur from time to time,” Professor Song patiently explained.

The air was silent for a moment.

“Thank you.”

Lu Shenxing lowered his eyes and thanked Professor Song in a hoarse voice.

He couldn’t describe the feeling.

Like a prisoner on death row who had been granted a reprieve, Ji Wei swallowed. The hand he had been clenching tightly finally began to relax, but he couldn’t say a word, sitting there stunned and motionless.

“Let’s go home.”

It wasn’t until the man’s voice came from above his head.

Only then did Ji Wei stand up. Lu Shenxing held his hand as they walked out of the consultation room. Just as they were about to leave, he stopped, turned back, and cautiously asked, “Is… mental illness hereditary?”

Professor Song blurted out, “The possibility of heredity cannot be ruled out.”

He suddenly realized the meaning behind Ji Wei’s question and immediately walked over. “I suggest you two could exchange diaries. It can not only enhance your bond as a couple but also help relieve emotional stress. If any problems arise, they can be discovered in time.”

Lu Shenxing lowered his eyes, knowing that the last sentence was the main point.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

After leaving the consultation room, Ji Wei, who had been quiet for almost the entire day, mustered up the courage to ask.

Anyone would be afraid, right?

Even if he wasn’t sick now, being with him was very dangerous.

He didn’t know when he would become like his grandfather and hurt the people close to him.

“Why?”

Lu Shenxing was a head taller than him, his voice carrying a distinct sense of distance.

Ji Wei hesitated for a moment before saying in a low voice, “I might go mad.”

The man’s footsteps stopped. He looked down at Ji Wei and said faintly, “I will too.”

Ji Wei’s eyes widened, his light-colored pupils shimmering with a fragmented light, reflecting Lu Shenxing’s smoothly contoured face. Lu Shenxing took his hand in an irresistible manner, their fingers intertwining tightly, a warm sensation spreading from his fingertips.

“If you leave, I will go mad.”

“So we have to stay together forever.”

The man said calmly.

But Ji Wei felt the temperature around him rising, so high that it was a little suffocating, drowning him in a deep tenderness. Perhaps it was too hot, for when he lowered his head, his eyes slowly began to burn.

It was as if in the darkness,

Lu Shenxing had reached out his hand to him.

***

When he returned home, for the first time, Ji Wei felt a desire to save money.

While he was still lucid, he wanted to save up enough money for his father, mother, and Lu Shenxing.

His idol wasn’t short of money.

But Lu Shenxing was always giving, and he wanted to give Lu Shenxing a gift too.

He added Wang Yuan on WeChat.

[Ji Wei] What do I need to draw?

[Wang Yuan] Just draw whatever you want. Can you do concept art? Like, in-game environmental concept art.

When Wang Yuan’s assistant saw the message he sent, he couldn’t help but shake his head.

He had been an assistant for six or seven years, and the thing he dreaded hearing most was “whatever.” It was pretty much equivalent to “I don’t know what I like, you guess.”

Nine times out of ten, the guess would be wrong.

The assistant couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Ji Wei.

Ji Wei hadn’t painted with oils since junior high. He rummaged through his art supply box for a long time before finally finding his oil paints and canvas. The moment his fingers touched the canvas, they trembled slightly, a hint of long-lost excitement coursing through his veins.

He locked himself in the study.

He didn’t do any conceptualizing; the image automatically appeared in his mind.

It was his other world.

In that world, a glaring sun always hung in the sky, but the sun had no warmth. Beneath the dark surface of the sea, a colossal beast lay hidden.

But it was dead and rotting.

The beast’s blood stained the depths of the ocean a shocking red, and on its back, it carried a city on the verge of collapse.

The canvas was as large as a wall.

The young man immersed himself in his own world, painting. Except for eating, taking medicine, and sleeping, he was always painting.

One day,

Two days,

Three days…

The world under his brush grew darker and darker. His brushstrokes were not delicate; one could even say they were bold and decisive, incorporating a bit of the freehand style of traditional Chinese painting. Yet, it was as if he had painted another world, one filled with a desperate, deathly silence.

He made his final stroke.

He felt something was wrong.

He stared at the painting for a full eight hours.

Finally, he picked up his brush once more.

He painted an illusory sun reflected on the surface of the sea.

Even if the sunlight couldn’t reach this world, he knew there was always a sun, casting an extremely faint light, like a firefly, into the silent depths of the sea.

***

Wang Yuan received the file from Ji Wei at three in the afternoon. He had just finished a meeting and was sitting in his office, feeling a bit tired.

Apocalypse games were a very popular genre. Many large foreign companies had tried their hand at it, which had led to player fatigue with the theme. It was all just radiation, zombies, and the like.

He had looked at several proposals from the planners but still couldn’t muster any interest.

Suddenly, he received the work sent by Ji Wei.

Wang Yuan’s eyes lit up. Three days ago, after he sent the message to Ji Wei, Ji Wei hadn’t contacted him.

He had thought Ji Wei had changed his mind. After all, his request sounded far too playful. He hadn’t expected to receive the work so quickly.

The assistant stood in front of the desk, feeling a little worried. Their boss, Wang, was an old-school gamer with extremely high standards.

He had just rejected several good proposals in the meeting. In the past two days, he had also learned about what had happened to Ji Wei and couldn’t help but remind him, “Be a little more tactful later.”

Wang Yuan nodded casually.

He opened the file.

Then there was a deathly silence. After a long moment, Wang Yuan finally said, “Fuck!”

Assistant: …I really shouldn’t have had any expectations for the boss’s tact.

The assistant poured him a glass of water and tried to reason with him. “Ji Wei is only a sophomore, right? And he’s a traditional Chinese painting major. He probably doesn’t even use a graphics tablet much. He still has a lot of room for development in the future.”

Wang Yuan didn’t take the water. He hurriedly pulled him over to the computer.

“Doesn’t use one much? Come over here and see if what you’re saying makes any sense. This color sensitivity and brushwork—you can’t get that without four or five years of digital painting experience. I suddenly have an idea.”

Wang Yuan automatically ruled out the possibility of it being hand-drawn. A piece of concept art required a high level of detail, and hand-drawing had a low margin for error. Furthermore, there was no way to use assets to simplify the process, making it an order of magnitude more difficult than digital painting.

But even so, it was already a sufficiently profound work.

The assistant looked at the vast and complex image, which had a rare, cold beauty, as if the world in the painting had come to life. His gaze was drawn into the deep ocean. “Is he really just in the Chinese Painting Department?”

After several minutes, the assistant finally murmured, “This could be used as a game concept art.”

Wang Yuan thought for a moment. “Has registration for CMS started?”

“CMS?”

The assistant was surprised at first. CMS was the world’s most authoritative game concept art competition. Even unreleased games could participate. Winning an award would greatly increase a game’s visibility and boost pre-sale numbers.

He instantly understood Wang Yuan’s meaning. “Can it work?”

The CMS awards had always been dominated by large foreign game companies. No Chinese game had ever won an award. This was, of course, also related to the fact that domestic games rarely developed large-scale games, and the investment in R&D couldn’t compare.

“Trust my judgment.”

Wang Yuan patted his assistant’s shoulder.

Many people said he was a person who acted on intuition. In fact, it wasn’t intuition. He had played many games, and when it came to judging games, he had never been wrong. He believed that Ji Wei would bring him a surprise.

***

After sending the scanned oil painting, Ji Wei received a bank transfer notification.

—Panzhou Studio had transferred one hundred thousand yuan to him.

It was much higher than the market price.

And a WeChat message.

[Wang Yuan] Is it okay for your painting to participate in CMS? Under the name of Panzhou’s Ji Wei.

For the sake of the extra tens of thousands.

[Ji Wei] Okay.

He hadn’t left the study for three days. Huang Bo had left food for him outside the door. He seemed to easily fall into this state when he was painting. His idol must be very worried.

Ji Wei wanted to leave the study, but he felt a little uneasy.

He thought for a moment, then took a new notebook from the bookshelf and wrote on the cover—

Ji Wei’s Diary.

He opened to the first page and wrote: Painting.

Second page, still: Painting.

When he turned to the third page, he paused and wrote:

Painting. Sold the painting to Panzhou.

Only after catching up on his diary for the past three days did Ji Wei have the courage to walk out of the study.

He pushed open the door, and Lu Shenxing happened to be standing right outside.

The man’s expression was somewhat weary, with faint dark circles under his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he had been standing there.

Ji Wei lowered his head and shyly handed the diary towards Lu Shenxing.

Lu Shenxing raised his eyebrows, took the diary, and flipped through it page by page. His gaze paused on the word “Panzhou.” “The person who spoke to you at the hospital that day, was he from Panzhou?”

The young man nodded.

Lu Shenxing made a mental note of the name.

“Why did you sell the painting?” Lu Shenxing asked again.

Ji Wei had been painting for three days, and he had been quietly watching from outside the door for three days.

Ji Wei was very absorbed when he painted with oils.

Disturbingly absorbed.

He vaguely understood why Ji Wei’s grandfather had made him switch to traditional Chinese painting.

When the young man painted with oils, he was clearly painting another world.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of interrupting.

But Professor Song had said that perhaps it would be better if he painted it out.

What he wouldn’t tell the young man was that he hadn’t slept soundly for the past three days.

Ji Wei didn’t know how to begin, so he just lowered his head.

He was afraid he would die without being lucid.

So, he wanted to leave some inheritance.

Lu Shenxing took in Ji Wei’s reaction and didn’t press further. He just thoughtfully stroked the young man’s head and walked into the study.

Ji Wei breathed a sigh of relief, gently tugging on the corner of Lu Shenxing’s shirt, and followed him back into the study.

The man walked to the bookshelf, took out a notebook identical to his own, opened it to the first page, and wrote:

Today, I want to make something cute.

The moment Ji Wei saw it, he thought that his idol, like Mother Lu, liked cute things, such as cat-ear pajamas and little dinosaur pajamas.

At this thought, his face suddenly turned red. A faint blush appeared on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears also turned red.

He looked extremely shy.

The man looked up and happened to see this scene. He lowered his eyes and said slowly and deliberately, “Weiwei is very cute.”